


will possess

by softlyforgotten



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco, The Young Veins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyforgotten/pseuds/softlyforgotten





	will possess

**(i. let want out with the cat. returns/and returns, something dutiful.)**

Ryan thinks that if you had to notice something like that, if you were to look up at one particular moment and think yes in order to know it, then it would never have happened at all. He’s not good at that type of thing. He’s observant in useless ways, over-analytical, and he’s also tired. He feels like he’s been tired for a very long time.

Spencer says, “Save me! Ryan, Ryan, you can’t let—” and then bursts into laughter when Brendon walks into the kitchenette, eyes rolled back into his head, holding his hands out zombie style. Ryan blinks politely at them both and Spencer says, breathless, “Fucking zombies, fuckin’ zombie _movies_ , oh my God—”

“Pray or scream, Spencer Smith,” Brendon intones. “For I have come to eat your soul.”

“My life as a rockstar,” Ryan says. “Eleven AM, get bored to death by immature bandmates.”

Brendon advances, taking no notice of him, and Spencer laughs and whirls around, tripping over Ryan’s feet and then shielding himself with Ryan’s body. Brendon makes gargling noises and Spencer says, “Prepare for the attack!”

Ryan holds his coffee and does not move, Spencer balancing himself with hands on Ryan’s waist, fingers spanned wide across Ryan’s hipbones.

 **(ii. want to throw things, you, the clock,/break windows until something bleeds and you finally/scream.)**

The first time he meets Jon Walker, Jon says, “Good show, man,” and smiles easy.

Ryan wavers a moment, off-balance, and then he says, “Thanks,” and Jon takes that as invitation for a friendship. Later, Ryan will be grateful; at the time he is just surprised. They end up sitting around on the grey cement where the buses are parked with guitars, playing whatever comes to mind. Jon has a couple of beers through the night but Ryan doesn’t really mind that much, after all; Jon doesn’t even slur that much, really. He knows a lot of old songs, and Ryan thinks that probably Jon would get on better with Brendon, but Ryan is selfish, and he likes having Jon to himself.

They play some of the pop songs that Ryan secretly likes (the formula of, the method) and is gratified to find Jon knows, and then after a while he starts making things up, trying to fit it to words in his head. Jon doesn’t comment, just fits in melodies behind the chords and he’s good at patterns, they’re both good at patterns, Ryan likes this.

They talk, too, and at some point in the evening Jon says, “It’s really cool, how close you and Spencer are.”

“Oh,” Ryan says. “Yeah, uh, Spencer’s great.”

“How long have you guys been together?” Jon asks. Ryan sets his guitar aside and lies back on the cement. It hurts his head a little bit but he’s tired, limbs heavy.

“I’ve known him since I was six,” he says and Jon laughs softly and says, woah.

It doesn’t get brought up again for about a week, and this time it’s Spencer and Brendon and Brent and Jon and Ryan, sprawled out on the floor of the bus and playing old video games because someone brought a Nintendo along. Spencer throws himself on the couch at one point with a groan and says, “Hotel night, thank fucking Christ.”

“You gonna come and watch the rest of The Gilmore Girls with me, Spence?” Brent asks, and then goes red when Brendon launches into his Brent-Watches-The-Gilmore-Girls routine.

“Yeah,” Spencer says. “Shut the fuck up, Brendon. You and Ryan don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

“I think we do,” Brendon says cheerfully. “That’s why we’re not that sad, you know?”

“Hey,” Jon says, tilting his head to the side and looking and. “Wouldn’t – I thought you and Ryan would share a room?” Ryan twists his head over his shoulder, watching Jon, and Spencer looks puzzled.

“Uh,” Spencer says. “Why?”

“Well, like,” Jon says, and waggles his eyebrows.

For a moment the only sound is the excited, electronic music of the paused Mario Kart game, and then Brendon bursts out laughing. “Wait,” he says, rolling his head from side to side on the carpet in delight. “Wait, wait – you think Spencer and Ryan are fucking?”

Jon flushes. “I thought it nicer,” he says. “I thought you were dating. Wait, aren’t you?”

Spencer and Brent start laughing, too, and Ryan smiles, ducking his head. Spencer gasps out, “Dude, dude, no. We’re like – best friends. Oh man, way to go weird on us.”

“It’s the shoes,” Brent tells him. “You can’t have a collection of sparkly sneakers without people starting to like, question your sexuality—”

“Coming from the guy who watches The Gilmore Girls with freakish intensity,” Brendon puts in, and then collapses with laughter again. Ryan grins, resting his cheek on his hand.

Jon looks at him in a funny way, and Ryan can practically see his brain working: _was I drunker than I thought, or are you just more of an asshole?_ Ryan gets up, still smiling, and walks into the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of water and drinks it all, and then another. In the other room, they are still laughing. Ryan curls his fingers over the cold metal of the sink.

 **(iii. to begin with,/I should tell the truth more.)**

Brendon says, out of nowhere, “Hey, hey, Ryan, you remember that time Spencer went missing?”

Spencer and Jon look up and Ryan puts down his book. He says, “No?”

“Yeah, you do, come on,” Brendon says, bouncing his knee up and down. He taps his fingers on the worn denim of his jeans, looking impatient, runs them over the faded thigh, half a scale. “You called me at like, two in the fucking morning, and I had to sneak out of the house so I didn’t wake my mom and dad. And then you came and picked me up in that fucking shitheap of a car and we drove around for like, an hour.”

Spencer says, “Wait, wait, I remember – was this after we had that fight? And I got pissed at you and went and sat in the park for like, five hours?”

“Um,” Ryan says. “Yeah, must have been.”

Jon laughs. “What was the fight about?”

“I dunno,” Spencer says. “Can’t remember. Ryan?” Ryan shrugs and Spencer says, “I remember it was something dumb. It wasn’t even a proper fight. It was like when you’re sick of someone, so you use any excuse to yell at them? I think we were tired.”

“ _I_ was tired,” Brendon says. “I had to go to school the next day. God, I was fucking exhausted. It took us forever to find you, and then you guys wouldn’t even get back in the car for like, half an hour. You just stood there hugging.”

“Dude,” Jon says, giggling. “No wonder I thought you guys were gay when we first met.”

“Ryan was a fragile youth,” Spencer says, grinning. “I had to look after him.”

“You were the one who took off,” Ryan retorts.

Brendon shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that. It was like – they were… man, I sound so dumb. Holding each other. Or something.”

“ _Holding_ each other,” Jon echoes, and breaks down into even more laughter. Spencer grins and looks at Ryan, raises an eyebrow. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“To me,” Brendon says, “To me, it looked like they were praying.”

\--

Ryan remembers how cold it was, on the pavement. He remembers being self-conscious, Brendon sitting in the car, nose pressed against the window, making a _hurry up_ face at him. Spencer had his hands in his pockets, looked sulky and pissed off, and Ryan remembers tripping over the edge of the sidewalk, flying forward with hands outstretched and just pulling himself up from falling. He doesn’t remember what he said but he remembers Spencer forgiving him and Spencer’s hand, clutched in the fabric of the back of Ryan’s hoodie.

He remembers what the fight was about, too.

\--

When Spencer was sixteen and Ryan was seventeen, Spencer had a girlfriend to go to prom with for the first time (and the trouble, a week later with Brendon in the cold car, was that Ryan didn’t _like_ Spencer’s girlfriend). He was nervous. Ryan said, “No, you’ll be fine, she really likes you,” and, “You’ve already made out with her, what the fuck are you worried about?” and, “Dancing’s easy, seriously, man,” and, “I’ll show you.”

They listened to Better Man by Pearl Jam because that’s what was in the stereo, just the beginning, Ryan curling his hand in Spencer’s and breathing against his cheek and letting him guide them in circles around the dark room.

\--

Ryan lies spreadeagled on the floor with his eyes closed, listening to the Vitalogy album as loud as it can go on his headphones. The carpet is prickly and worn beneath him, scratchy where his t-shirt is riding up and its pressed against his bare skin.

He opens his eyes and Spencer’s leaning against the doorway, watching him. Neither of them move for a long time, until finally Ryan pulls a headphone away and reaches up with it, offering. Spencer comes and lies down next to him and they listen to two songs before Spencer’s phone rings and he gets up to answer it.

 **(iv. when your face has the shape of my palm)**

It’s been a week and still no one’s done the dishes, so Ryan and Spencer agree to do them if Jon and Brendon go and get coffee from the Starbucks around the corner. Spencer washes them and Ryan dries, same as they always have, and Ryan doesn’t mean to stop talking but he does, staring out the window into the dusty parking lot and not thinking about anything at all, really, except for maybe how when he talked about seeing the world he didn’t mean seeing the same slabs of concrete and white lines in every country.

Spencer says, “Ryan?”

“Huh?” Ryan looks at Spencer and Spencer is staring intently, worrying the bottom corner of his lip with his teeth. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Spencer sighs. He says, “It’s not important.”

“Sorry,” Ryan says again, because Spencer looks upset.

Spencer looks at the soapy water and hands Ryan a dish. There is still a little bit of tomato sauce sticking to the edge but Ryan doesn’t say anything about it.

He asks, quietly, “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” Spencer says immediately. He looks at Ryan again and says, in one breath, “Are you okay?”

Ryan stares at him. “What?”

Spencer looks a lot younger than normal, staring at the floor. “You seem kinda lonely,” he says.

Ryan stares at him. His throat feels scratchy and he wonders what it is like to look at Spencer without that small, desperate tug in his belly, what it is like to not feel tall and stretched out and aching. He says, “Spence. Spence, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Spencer asks.

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “I’m just tired, man. That point halfway through a tour, you know.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says. He smiles, slightly. “I’m glad, okay. Just – you shouldn’t bottle stuff up all the time.”

He touches the skin on the underside of Ryan’s elbow with one wet finger, the crook of Ryan’s arm. Ryan smiles at him and wonders what it is like.

 **(v. I wanted this we so long I got over the wanting.)**

It’s raining and Ryan is wet. These things are not particularly connected, as Ryan has just stepped out of the shower. He peers at himself in the mirror, towel around his waist. He didn’t wash his eyeliner off very well and it’s faded around his eyes, grey and smudgy. He sighs, rubs the heel of his hand over his eye and goes back into the bedroom.

Spencer is sprawled on his bed, flipping through channels on the TV. He says, “I am so fucking sick of infomercials, swear to god. It’s all I can ever find.”

“Um.” Ryan says, “Was there ever a point when you _weren’t_ sick of infomercials?”

Spencer looks up at him, mouth twitching. “When I appreciated their worth as individual pieces of art?”

“Saw them as the truly inspirational things they are, yeah,” Ryan says.

“I guess I’ve been a little judgemental,” Spencer muses. He looks at Ryan’s stomach, raises an eyebrow. “Nice bruise.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, touching it automatically. “Yeah, Brendon kicked me yesterday trying to tackle Jon.”

“Fucker,” Spencer says comfortably. Ryan nods and looks away, goes to get stuff out of his bag. He hesitates before dropping the towel and getting dressed but Spencer’s not looking at him, they’ve known each other for fourteen years and Spencer never looks, so he gets into his pajamas quickly, big baggy t-shirt and a pair of Jon’s sweatpants that he swiped off him the other day.

Spencer doesn’t say anything or move, but there’s a space next to him so Ryan goes and lies down, too. Spencer’s found some shitty sitcom so they settle down and watch that and fuck, Ryan’s so tired, and he maybe is a little bit lonely after all. He butts his head against Spencer’s shoulder, once, twice, until Spencer makes an exasperated sound and lifts up his arm, puts it around Ryan’s shoulders and let’s Ryan curl up like that, nose pressed against Spencer’s shoulder.

Spencer looks down at him and opens his mouth, and Ryan says, “Yes, _fine_ , Spencer.”

“I’m just checking,” Spencer says quietly, easily. Ryan feels guilty but doesn’t say anything else.

The sitcom changes to the news, changes to an infomercial (Spencer snorts in disgust), changes to another sitcom. Ryan lies very still and feels Spencer pressed up warm all along his body and is grateful he’s too sleepy to get hard. He doesn’t go to sleep, though, lies there and after a while rearranges his arm so that he can tap his fingers over Spencer’s ribs, feel him breathe in and out. He counts the seconds between and tries to time his breathing to Spencer’s rhythm but after a while it makes him start yawning uncontrollably, so he just lets it be.

Finally, Spencer says, “You want food?”

“No,” Ryan says.

“We can get room service,” Spencer suggests. “I’ll pay for you and everything.” He looks at the phone but doesn’t move, arm hanging over Ryan in a way that suggests he is holding, rather than just lying limply there. Ryan is sick of reading too much into things.

“I’m not hungry,” he says. He pauses, and then adds, “You get something if you want.”

“So you can eat it off my plate,” Spencer huffs. He moves fast, shifting down until their faces are close together. Spencer purses his lips and narrows his eyes, says, “I see right through you, Ryan Ross.”

Spencer is lying too close. Ryan swallows.

“Dude,” Spencer says. His eyebrows draw closer together. “Your heart is beating really fast.” He puts his palm over Ryan’s chest, as if to emphasise the point.

“Spencer,” Ryan says, helpless. His gaze drops to Spencer’s mouth and his eyelids are so heavy, they’re so, he can’t keep them open, and he can’t help the dumb, unconscious movement towards Spencer that can’t be blamed on gravity, not when they’re lying side by side on a bed. Then Spencer jolts back, scrambling up until he’s on his knees, staring down at Ryan. Ryan’s mouth twists.

“Ryan,” Spencer says. “Wait, wait – are you—”

“Fuck,” Ryan says, and rolls over. Spencer reaches out to touch his shoulder and Ryan flinches away.

“You’re – what,” Spencer says. “I don’t, I didn’t know. Shit, Ryan, what are you – I mean. How long?”

“Don’t,” Ryan says. He gets up from the bed and crosses to the other one two metres away, crawls under the covers and turns his back to Spencer. He shuts his eyes.

“ _Ryan_ ,” Spencer says, and he sounds angry and confused. “You can’t just – I don’t understand. You, like—”

“Please shut up,” Ryan whispers. He doesn’t have to be loud, he knows. He pulls the blankets up over his head, curling up with his knees pressed to his chest. It’s hard to breathe properly under the blankets, hot and stifled air, but he doesn’t want to come out.

He still hears Spencer say, “Want.” His voice is small and Ryan presses his nose against his knee, closes his eyes and doesn’t move. He doesn’t move at all, not when Spencer turns off the lights and makes obvious noises about crawling into bed himself, not when he hears Spencer’s breathing even out, not when he loses track of counting aimless numbers. After a while he falls asleep.

\--

In the morning, despite Spencer’s best efforts, Ryan refuses to look at him.

 **(vi. what we carry in, we carry out, end of story. this/doesn't even want to be love.)**

Ryan gets downstairs as fast as he can, takes the stairs so as to avoid Spencer heading meaningfully for the elevator, and almost bumps into Jon upon arrival in the lobby. Zack looks at him and raises an eyebrow and Ryan hunches his shoulders and then thinks better of his body language and lifts his chin. In high school Brent took this psychology course being used to lure more kids into doing science and he spent days following Ryan around and analysing his body language, and now Ryan starts thinking about it at weird times.

“Ryan,” Spencer says in a low voice when they’re getting on the bus. Ryan ignores him.

He ends up going to his bunk. They have a full day of driving, not expected to arrive at the venue for nearly eight hours, and Ryan didn’t sleep until late last night. He crawls into his bunk and lies there, staring at the wall. God, he’s so embarrassed.

After a while, the curtain gets swished aside and Brendon peers in at him. Ryan glares.

“Leave me alone,” he says.

“Sure thing, princess,” Brendon says cheerfully, but shoves at Ryan’s shoulder until Ryan moves over enough for him to crawl in. Brendon immediately takes up most of the space available, half sprawling himself over Ryan, breathing noisily in his ear.

“Seriously, Brendon,” Ryan says. “I’m not in the mood.”

“I know,” Brendon says. “Spencer’s all frightened, too.”

“Spencer’s not frightened,” Ryan says.

“Anxious, whatever.” Brendon hums out three and a half bars of a song Ryan doesn’t recognise and then adds, “He’s being really annoying.”

“Not my problem,” Ryan says.

“Kind of is,” Brendon tells him. “Or at least your fault.”

Ryan breathes out. “Brendon,” he says.

Brendon laughs, loud but not unkind. “I know,” he says and then, more soothingly, “Hey, hey, I know.”

“If the band breaks up,” Ryan begins. He stops and smiles crookedly, says, “You and me should keep going, you know. Start, like, a travelling musicians thing.”

“Like bards?” Brendon enquires.

“Sure,” Ryan says. “It’ll be awesome. I’ll learn the lute.”

“Okay,” Brendon says. “We’ll need some kind of panpipes, too, I think. And funny clothes. Funn _ier_ clothes. Like, uh, those skirt things. What are they called?”

“Kilts?” Ryan suggests.

“Fuck yeah,” Brendon says vehemently. “Fucking _kilts_. Does that mean we need bagpipes, too?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re allowed to wear a kilt even if you don’t play the bagpipes,” Ryan tells him.

Brendon grins. “We’ll learn the bagpipes anyway. It’s a skill for life. Like riding a bike.”

“Okay,” Ryan says. “We can be called Ross and Urie The Highlanders’ Adventures.”

“Sweet,” Brendon says. “Only the band’s not going to break up. Promise.”

“Yeah, well,” Ryan says, staring at the ceiling. “What do you know?”

Brendon laughs. He says, “I thought we were having naptimes. Cuddle time.”

“You invaded my bunk,” Ryan points out. “I don’t think I agreed to anything.”

“Shut up,” Brendon says. Ryan turns on his side and Brendon snuggles up behind him, arm draped around his stomach.

“If the band breaks up,” Ryan whispers.

“Not gonna happen,” Brendon says sleepily. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re not that scary.”

\--

The show is pretty terrible. Spencer’s beat is off all night, like it hasn’t been in years, and Ryan keeps wanting to follow the crooked rhythm.

\--

Back on the bus, Ryan watches About A Boy with Jon, because Jon’s never seen it before. Halfway through, Spencer comes and sits next to Ryan. Ryan stays very still, still folded up and leaning against Jon, until Spencer sighs and shifts and rests his head against Ryan’s shoulder.

Ryan stands up so violently that Spencer slips and falls. He turns around and says, “Don’t fucking touch me,” and then he walks out of the room.

 **(vii. hold your breath, let it build, let go. this is practice.)**

“So I’m curious,” Spencer says, standing in front of Ryan in the dressing room after the show the next night. “About like, when this became _my_ fault.”

Ryan doesn’t look at him, hand steady as he unbuttons his vest and tugs it off. It was hot onstage, hotter than he’s used to, and he sweated a bit. He doesn’t want a shower, just a fresh shirt.

“Because it’s really fucking clear that you’re pissed at me,” Spencer says.

“Spencer Smith’s amazing powers of deduction at work,” Brendon murmurs, and then grins and ducks his head when Spencer turns around to glare at him. “Sorry,” he says.

“You’re rooming with me tonight,” Spencer informs Ryan, and he reaches out and grabs Ryan’s elbow as he says it, shakes it slightly for emphasis.

“No,” Ryan says.

“Fucking yes,” Spencer grits out. “You don’t get to do this to me.” Ryan looks up and Spencer’s glaring at him. Ryan suddenly understands what Brendon meant when he said that Spencer was terrified.

He shrugs. “Whatever.” He pulls his shirt off and goes and fetches a clean t-shirt, pulls it over his head, and when he turns around Spencer is still watching him.

 **(viii. we've never been a good idea.)**

They’ve been silent a long time, so it’s a surprise when Spencer says, “I don’t even get why you’re angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” Ryan says, startled into truth.

“You _are_ ,” Spencer says. His cheeks are slightly pink, the way they get when he’s about to start yelling. “It’s unfair, but you really are—”

“You embarrassed me,” Ryan says. “I didn’t know what to do. I’m not angry.”

“You’re still doing all this passive aggressive bullshit,” Spencer snaps. “You _always_ do this, Ryan, you always do it when you don’t know how to deal with something and it’s fucking childish.”

“God,” Ryan says. He drops his head into his hands and rubs the heels of his hands over his eyes. “I’m really tired. Can we do this later?”

“You’ll ignore me later,” Spencer says. “You’ve been ignoring me for days. I think I should point out again that I didn’t _do_ anything!”

“I’m tired,” Ryan says. “I’ve just been tired, that’s all, I’m not deliberately—”

“Screw you,” Spencer snarls. “You know you’re lying. I don’t get while you’ll sit with Jon and fucking _cuddle_ with Brendon but I’m still, like, the anti-Christ—”

“Oh, shut up,” Ryan says tiredly, getting to his feet. He walks to the bathroom and says, “I’m not in love with Brendon and Jon, Spencer. That’s all.”

Then he closes the door and undresses, climbing into the shower. His head hurts. He rests it against the glass and keeps the water lukewarm, cool on his skin. After nearly twenty minutes of just standing there he gets out and back into his clothes, even though it always feels weird getting back in old clothes after a shower.

Spencer is sitting on his bed, watching the door. When Ryan walks in Spencer's cheeks go pink again and Ryan gives him a small smile. He says, “Anything on TV?”

“Ryan,” Spencer says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ryan says. “Want to watch a movie? See what the hotel’s got.”

“ _Ryan_ ,” Spencer says.

Ryan sighs. “It doesn’t have to be a big thing.” Spencer laughs weakly.

“You make me feel so young sometimes,” he tells Ryan.

Ryan shrugs one shoulder up. “Sorry?” he offers.

Spencer stands up and walks towards him. He says, “You scare me.”

“Brendon says I’m not frightening,” Ryan points out, unsure where this is going.

“You’re not,” Spencer says. “That’s why I always feel dumb.” He says, “You – I didn’t know what was going on, the other night. What you meant by it, or whatever. And then you made it impossible for me to talk to you.”

“Sorry,” Ryan says. Spencer makes a quiet, exasperated noise and looks at the floor. Ryan’s hands feel too big, fingers too long, and he clasps them together in front of himself, folds them up tight until they are smaller. Spencer closes his eyes and takes a breath, and Ryan watches his centre of gravity shift.

“Want to watch a movie?” Spencer asks.

“Sure,” Ryan says.

\--

Halfway through the movie, Spencer leans forward and presses his mouth to Ryan’s. Ryan jumps and it makes Spencer jolt forward, their foreheads bumping accidentally. Ryan breaks away, stares at Spencer. “Don’t do this,” he says.

“I’m not doing anything,” Spencer tells him, eyes bright and laughing, and then he rolls closer and puts his hand on the back of Ryan’s neck, drags him forward until they kiss again. Spencer’s mouth is softer than Ryan would have thought, soft almost like a girl’s, and his stubble drags on Ryan’s skin when Ryan shifts his head, trying to get the angle right. Ryan swallows, which always feels kind of awkward to him at moments like these, and Spencer sighs, breath warm against the corner of Ryan’s mouth.

“You gotta let me work things out too,” Spencer tells him, breaking apart, their noses brushing. “I’ve known you a long time but I can’t read all your thoughts.”

“That’s obvious,” Ryan whispers, and then Spencer moves above him, shifting his weight carefully onto Ryan, so Ryan can push him off if he needs. He’s smiling, light and nervous and lovely.

“I think I’m going to fuck you,” he says, “Ryan _Ross_.”

Ryan closes his eyes and whispers, against Spencer’s mouth, “That sounds nice.”

 **(ix. this also could be joy.)**

Jon and Spencer are fighting in the kitchen, something stupid and annoyed about the other always being _there_ when _they_ want to be there, fuck it, and Ryan lies on the floor of the lounge and hums the song Brendon had been singing on their way to Starbucks this morning. The sun is filtering through the window, warm on Ryan’s bare arms.

Spencer comes in and throws himself back on the couch deliberately. Ryan watches him as he glares in Jon’s direction and then sighs, rubbing his sleeve over his face. He looks sullen and young, and Ryan’s fingers flex at his sides.

Spencer looks at him, startled. His anger slips away. He sits down beside Ryan and touches Ryan’s wrist, soft, and then shifting across it, hand curving around Ryan’s pulse. He says, “Hey, you can. Ryan?”

“Oh,” Ryan says, and smiles. “I forgot.”


End file.
